


loving parents

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12003894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Jenny’s still looking out the window, almost determinedly. “Babies are small,” she says, almost to herself, “and they’re sweet, and a little baby that’s part Rupert, I’d, I’d want to see that. I bet it would have your eyes, or—or something.” She reaches out, grabbing clumsily at Giles’s hand.





	1. on being ready

Jenny wants a dog.

Worse than this indignity is the fact that she has told the children that she wants a dog, _and_ that Giles has refused to allow a dog into the apartment, even though he had said _nothing of the sort_ , and now he is being accosted by the entirety of the Scooby Gang for not getting his wife a dog.

“Really,” he says, thoroughly annoyed, “this isn’t any of _anyone’s_ business, and besides, I thought we were discussing tonight’s patrol.”

“Haven’t you seen those teeny little well-behaved poodles?” Willow’s protesting.

“I don’t want one of those,” says Jenny, raising her hand. “I want a mutt.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Faith clasps her hands together, smiling with over-the-top innocence at Giles. “G, isn’t that sweet? Jen wants to bring a poor, lost, lonely, lost, poor little puppy out of the cold and into her warm home.”

Giles is feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“See?” Jenny gestures around. “The kids agree with me. You’re being irrational, Rupert.”

“I am _not—_ ” Giles removes his glasses and begins polishing them with such ferocity that they fly out of his hand. Buffy catches them and hands them obligingly back to him. “Thank you,” he says (whether or not Buffy’s on his side, good manners shall _not_ be forgotten), and then, “Jenny, this apartment is _much_ too small for a dog. It barely fits all of my books as it is.”

Jenny considers this very seriously, then says, “I think you should take that as a sign to get rid of some of your books. How many of those do you even use, anyway?”

“That is _beside the point._ ” Giles looks around the room, then finds one of the cups from his best tea set, perched precariously on a stack of books where Jenny had left it. Picking it up, he says pointedly, “A dog might end up breaking something like this.”

“Giles,” says Xander, _“we_ break things like that all the time.”

“Yeah, and we track in mud, and we make lots of noise, and I can be a little yappy sometimes,” Buffy continues playfully, sharing a grin with Jenny. “Really, it’s just like we’re adopting another Scooby—ooh, Ms. Calendar, you should _name_ the dog Scooby!”

“We are _not_ naming the hypothetical dog that no one will be getting,” says Giles loudly, with the slow yet dawning realization that he is fighting a losing battle.

“But _puppy,_ ” Willow all but whines.

Jenny jerks a thumb towards Willow. “Look,” she says, “we deal with whimpering too. Even without a puppy. We’d be great puppy parents.”

A thought occurs to Giles, something very different than getting a dog. He suspects that the same thought occurs to Jenny too, because the moment after she says _parents_ her face goes very pale and she knocks over a nearby stack of books in a hurry to leave the room. It’s a conversation that they’ve been skirting around for nearly a year now, more for technical reasons than anything—it’s one thing to take care of an existing life on a Hellmouth, but quite another to bring a new one into the equation.

“You guys all right?” Buffy asks, brow furrowed. Without answering, Giles hurries after Jenny.

She’s sitting in their bedroom, with that carefully cultivated Unreadable-Yet-Calm face that he remembers from those days after Angelus. He sits down next to her.

“I kinda just—thought it would be a place to start,” says Jenny without looking at him. “I know you want kids—”

This takes Giles by surprise. He’s not entirely sure whether or not she’s right. “Wherever did you get that notion?” he inquires.

Jenny shrugs, smiles almost self-deprecatingly. “You’re a pretty traditional guy,” she says. “White picket fence, loving wife, two-point-five children—”

“I do believe you’re referring to the _American_ dream, dear,” says Giles, which makes his wife sniffle-laugh and sort of lean on him for a moment. He considers his words, then says, “I want you to be happy, Jenny. That’s really all it comes down to. And if having children isn’t something you feel like you’ll be ready for—”

Jenny sighs. “I don’t—I don’t want to just put a permanent _no_ on the topic,” she says, taking his hand and squeezing it tight. “I _want_ kids, someday. I’m just so afraid that I’m not ready to be a mom.”

Giles is rather of the mind that Jenny is quite a good mother to the children that they seem to have accidentally acquired, but figures that this isn’t something she needs to hear right now. What he says instead is, “Much as the idea of starting a family with you does appeal to me, I personally don’t know if _I’m_ ready either.”

It’s the truth, too, because there are already so many people in his life that he worries about on a daily basis. Adding another person to the mix, someone small and helpless and particularly defenseless, seems like more than he can handle. Certainly, Giles _likes_ the idea of a child that’s his and Jenny’s, but he doesn’t know if either of them would be able to handle that sort of loss.

“Thank you,” says Jenny very quietly, and hugs him. “I picked the right guy.”

“Debatable,” quips Giles, and kisses the top of her head.

* * *

 

This is two weeks before Jenny throws up in the middle of Xander’s Fourth-Of-July-Barbecue-And-Ice-Cream-Faith-Stop-Eating-All-The-Hamburgers-Bonanza. She doesn’t even make it to a trash can, just doubles over and throws up on the grass.

“Oh, _shit,_ ” says Faith, and she and Willow run over with much more towels than strictly necessary. Jenny waves them off, pulling herself up and trying to smile.

Giles reaches Jenny and takes out a handkerchief, dabbing at the corner of her mouth. “All right?” he inquires gently. He considers giving her a reassuring kiss, then decides against it.

Jenny makes a face. “Probably Xander’s burgers,” she says.

“I _resent_ that,” says Xander, who’s trying to surreptitiously place a dropped burger back on the grill.

“No, Xander, you _resemble_ that,” says Jenny, and the moment is forgotten amidst the banter and laughter.

* * *

 

“I’m late.”

Giles’s first thought is _bloody hell, this is a bizarre dream,_ and then he realizes that Jenny really _is_ standing in front of the bed, dressed in one of Willow’s horrible patchwork miniskirts and an oversized t-shirt. “What are you _doing,_ ” he mumbles, trying to figure out whether this is a genuine emergency or whether his wife is having a strange reaction to a dream she’s had. It’s happened before. Jenny woke him up whispering about goldfish crackers and back-to-school shopping.

“I gotta go down to the pharmacy,” says Jenny, her voice high.

“Wearing _that?_ ” Now Giles really is sitting up.

“I just—had to grab the first things I could find.” Jenny’s shaking. She’s shaking. This really does qualify as a genuine emergency, Giles realizes, and pulls himself up out of bed, but she flattens herself against the door as he takes a step forward. “Rupert, I gotta go, okay, just, just go back to sleep, baby.”

Giles takes another step forward, then takes Jenny in his arms. She holds onto him very tightly, and he can hear her breathing hard and fast. “What’s going on?” he asks her, this time as gentle as he can possibly be. She’s had nights like this before, very rarely, when she’s had flashbacks to Eyghon or Angelus and woken up in a panic.

Jenny doesn’t answer for a good thirty seconds, just holds onto him and seems to try to regulate her breathing. Finally, she repeats, “I’m late.”

“To what?” Giles murmurs, rubbing her back. “It’s two in the morning, love, go back to bed.”

“No— _no—_ ” Jenny has to stop talking again before she forces out, “My period’s late.” Giles feels a nervous _jolt._ He doesn’t have much else time to process what he’s feeling, because Jenny’s continuing semi-hysterically, “And I threw up at Xander’s barbecue, and I just woke up to throw up _again_ , and I need to go down to the pharmacy because I can’t go to sleep without knowing—”

Giles understands. “I’ll go,” he tells her.

“Rupert, I’m sorry.” Jenny’s voice breaks. “This shouldn’t—I shouldn’t be scared, this isn’t a bad thing, I mean, we’re _married,_ by all accounts I should have been totally prepared for the whole family-starting—”

Giles hugs her very tightly. Then he tells her, “ _Plenty_ of married couples choose not to have children immediately, or even at all. Plenty of them have very personal reasons to do so. By no means do I expect you to be overjoyed at the prospect of a child, and I hope you’ll extend me that same courtesy.”

“How are you so _calm_ about this?” There’s nothing accusing in Jenny’s tone, just a tired kind of wonder.

“Because you’re not,” Giles answers quietly, taking Jenny’s hands in his, “and you need someone right now.”

Jenny breathes out and rests her head on his shoulder. Tiredly, she says, “Can you drive?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re going to the pharmacy, and I—if—can you drive us?”

Jenny seems so small and so afraid. Giles is hesitant to step away from her, but he has to, pulling gently at her hand and leading her out of the apartment.

He helps her into the front seat, buckling her up (she’s very clearly shaken, barely present; he figures he should do what he can to make this as easy on her as possible) before getting into the car himself and starting it up. They left the radio on, and it’s on the 24-hour-80’s-music station. Giles is too tired to change it, and the music serves as at least some kind of a distraction.

He only realizes that he’s still in his pajamas when they’re a good five blocks away from the apartment, but he’s too worried about Jenny to drive back and change. “Do you have anything to buy the test with?” he asks Jenny quietly.

“I have my purse,” says Jenny, who’s staring out the window. “I have—like, a twenty in there, I think.”

Giles takes Jenny’s hand again and kisses the palm. Her fingers close into a fist, as though she’s trying to hold his kiss tight. “We’ll be all right,” he reassures her.

Jenny sniffles, then says, “I _like_ babies.”

Giles accidentally runs two red lights. He’s very grateful for the fact that no one’s on the streets this early. “I’m sorry?” he says, more focused on getting them to the pharmacy than traffic laws.

Jenny’s still looking out the window, almost determinedly. “Babies are small,” she says, almost to herself, “and they’re sweet, and a little baby that’s part Rupert, I’d, I’d want to see that. I bet it would have your eyes, or—or something.” She reaches out, grabbing clumsily at Giles’s hand.

“Are you all right?” Giles asks her, even though he already knows the answer.

“No,” says Jenny miserably. “I don’t want to end up hurting a little kid. That baby would trust me without hesitation, and I don’t think anyone should trust me that much to not screw up.”

Giles thinks he understands, sort of. “Is there anything I can say that will make you feel better?” he asks her quietly. Jenny shakes her head, so he goes back to just holding her hand until they reach the pharmacy.

They get out of the car, and Giles is struck by how strange they must look. He’s wearing his blue-striped pajamas, his hair sticking up at odd angles; Jenny’s got on a pair of fuzzy socks and she’s clutching the fancy handbag she’d bought in England. “You know,” he says, “it’s quite possible that vampires only attack the attractive-looking people. We may be safe.”

Jenny leans into his side as the automatic doors slide open.

* * *

 

They don’t take the test in the pharmacy bathroom, because Jenny says that she wants to be able to panic in her own house, thank you very much, so there’s a very tense drive home and then Giles is sitting on the bed, waiting for Jenny to come out of the bathroom. He doesn’t know much about pregnancy tests, which is probably why it takes him an hour to realize that he should go in and check on Jenny.

The bathroom light is on, and Jenny’s sitting cross-legged in the empty bathtub. “Hi,” she says in a small voice.

“Any results?” Giles asks, suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees. He kneels down next to the bathtub, reaching a hand out to Jenny.

She takes it. “Yeah,” Jenny says. “Yep. Um, I-I’m—we’re—” She doesn’t seem able to finish. Giles gets the message anyway when he sees the positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter.

He can’t really register his own reaction to this news, though, not yet. Not while Jenny’s this frightened. “There are many other options,” he begins gently, carefully. “If you don’t yet feel ready—”

To his complete surprise, Jenny utters a choked sob and buries her face in her hands. Giles decides that this is a situation requiring direct action and climbs into the bathtub, but she pulls back when he tries to hold her. “No, it’s not—” She sniffles, raising her head. “I _want_ to be ready,” she says. “And it’s not some bullshit about being the _ideal wife,_ this is—I want to be normal and functional enough to have a family with you without having a total panic attack—do you remember how anxious I was about our wedding? You know I wanted to get married to you, and you have to know that I do want this kid, I just—”

Suddenly, finally, Giles knows what she needs to hear. “I am not going to leave you,” he says, low and certain.

“Rupert—” Jenny sounds close to tears.

“I am not,” Giles moves forward, cupping Jenny’s face in one hand, “going to leave you. Regardless of what decision you make, regardless of how afraid you are, I _promise_ you will never be alone.” He tries to bring her into his arms and slips on the smooth tile of the bathtub, cracking his head on the edge. _“Bloody fucking hell,”_ he says emphatically, which does take the romantic tenderness out of his earlier statement.

Jenny smiles tearfully at him. Her hair is disheveled, she’s starting to really cry, and Giles has never seen her more beautiful. “I love you so much, Rupert, _so much_ ,” she tells him, moving forward and holding him tight.

The back of Giles’s head still stings, but he can feel Jenny relaxing in his arms—if it takes his getting bumped on the head for her to stop shaking, he’ll take a thousand. He kisses her hair and tells her how many different ways he loves her, over and over, almost a lullaby, until she’s fallen asleep.

Rather an odd place for a nap, Giles thinks, looking around the bathroom, but whatever makes Jenny feel better is worth it to him. Very carefully, he picks Jenny up, climbing awkwardly out of the tub with her still in his arms.

 _My family in my arms,_ he thinks, unbidden, and realizes for the first time that he _does_ want a child with Jenny. Very much so. But now certainly isn’t the time to bring that up, and he’s fine with that; his desire for a child in no way outweighs Jenny’s fear of failing her family, which—is him, now. Perhaps they should talk about that in the morning.

Giles sets Jenny down on their bed, tucking her in. She only stirs when he slips in beside her, and even then, it’s only for a moment.


	2. right call

Jenny wakes up before Rupert, and enjoys a blissful five seconds of sleepy contentment before she remembers the events of the night before. An anxious knot forms in her chest as she pulls herself out of bed and stumbles over to the dresser.

“All right?” Rupert mumbles sleepily. She ignores him, pulling on a bathrobe before slipping out of the bedroom. Coffee would be nice—but no, she’s pregnant, she shouldn’t be drinking coffee if she’s pregnant, something about the baby or maybe about her. Besides which, she’s too anxious to make a pot of coffee. She starts looking in the cupboards for wherever the hell Rupert keeps his stash of tea.

“Lower drawer,” says Rupert gently from the doorway.

Jenny doesn’t dare turn around to look at him. “Thanks,” she says, getting out the kettle.

Rupert steps forward, turning on the stove for her. “I’ll make the tea, if you like,” he offers, placing a hand briefly at the small of her back.

“Thanks,” says Jenny again. She doesn’t know what else she can say. Reluctantly, she turns, handing him the kettle.

He looks rumpled and soft, just like he does every morning. There’s something profoundly comforting about that. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

Truthfully, Jenny doesn’t really want to _think_ about it, but that doesn’t seem like a very constructive way to deal with big emotional issues. Ignoring problems only ever make those problems bigger; she’s learned that the hard way. “My road map keeps changing,” she says finally, watching Rupert fill the kettle. “I come to Sunnydale thinking that I’m only here for a few years at most, I’ve already got plans for a transfer to LA, and suddenly I’m married and pregnant and—” She has to stop talking for a moment.

“And?” Rupert prompts.

Jenny takes a breath before continuing. “It frightens me,” she finally says. “I’d be someone irreplaceable to this kid.”

Rupert steps away from the stove, taking her hands in his. “You know you’re not replaceable to me,” he says simply.

“People die,” says Jenny, smiling tersely. “And I know I wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life pining over me. I don’t want that from anyone.”

“Jenny.” Rupert raises their joined hands to his heart. Jenny hates how good he is in that moment, looking down at her with nothing but quiet tenderness. No exasperation, no resentment—he looks at her like he understands, and she’s almost frightened that he really does. “Being irreplaceable isn’t something to be afraid of.”

“Fuck that,” says Jenny, her voice coming out sharper and angrier than she means it to. “ _Fuck_ that, Rupert, this isn’t _about_ me. What happens to our kid if I die or go crazy or leave them? Every kid deserves loving parents who can always be there for them, and the way we live, our child _can’t_ have that.”

Rupert’s face shifts, ever so slightly. Quietly, he says, “I think you mean that _my_ child can’t have that.”

Jenny blinks, realizes what she’s just said, and then realizes how her husband is going to interpret it. “No. Rupert—” she begins, horrified.

“This wasn’t your life until you met me,” says Rupert, letting her hands drop. He isn’t looking at her, and he looks older and more tired than he has in a long time. “You chose this, yes, but—”

“ _No,_ okay?” Jenny grabs Rupert’s shoulders, trying to get him to look at her. “I chose _you._ Full stop. Whatever obstacles that come up are on me.”

“They aren’t just on you.” Rupert still isn’t looking at her.

“Fine, then, they’re on _us!_ ” Jenny’s hands slide down until they press against Rupert’s chest, pushing him gently back into the counter. She can feel him shaking slightly. “Look at me,” she persists. “Okay? I’m afraid, but it is _no_ way your fault. Not by a long shot.”

“If you were with someone—better, someone—”

“If I was with someone else, there’s no way in hell I’d be married to them right now,” Jenny tells Rupert. Even after years of loving him, it still feels like more of an admission than she wants. She pushes past that doubt and fear; she doesn’t have time for it just yet. “This whole messed-up thing I have about commitment, it has _nothing_ to do with you being a Watcher, okay? I’ve been like this for a while—”

“Yes, but if you’d met someone _normal—_ ”

Jenny grabs the lapels of Rupert’s jacket and kisses him, hard, because she wants to remind them both that they’re not alone. And yeah, she’s still fucking terrified, but so is Rupert, and she can’t let him be scared too. “Baby,” she says, soft and determined. “You’re the most normal guy there is. The world’s always had vampires and demons and Slayers, and it’s always going to have magic. I’m not in the habit of ignoring any of those things, so don’t say _normal_ when what you really mean is _in denial._ ”

Rupert breathes out, staring at her like she’s the only real thing in the world. And that’s when something suddenly clicks for Jenny.

If normal is always going to be dangerous—and it _is,_ because Jenny’s sure as hell not leaving this fight—then there’s never really going to be a right time for them to have a baby. Not really. But if normal has always been dangerous, then she and Rupert shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place, because they could lose each other at any second. And Jenny knows that marrying Rupert was the absolute right call, so—it could be that this baby is the right call too.

Just like that, Jenny knows. She won’t let fear rule her life and her choices. She _wants_ to have a baby if she’s having it with Rupert.

One last, persistent worry remains. “I don’t want to be selfish,” says Jenny, barely a murmur. “I don’t want to drag a kid into the mix. They should have a choice about what kind of life they’re getting stuck with.”

But then Rupert smiles, wobbly and uncertain but still very clearly a smile. “You had a choice,” he says, fingers tracing her cheek, “and you chose this. I don’t think our life is _that_ intolerable, really, overlooking the demon-killing and occasional mortal danger.”

That makes Jenny laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “Overlooking _that,_ we’ve got a pretty good thing going, huh?”

Rupert pulls her into his arms, holding her close.

* * *

 

 

By the time Jenny finally gets around to taking a shower and getting dressed, it’s nearly noon. When she steps out of her bedroom, Faith and Tara are sitting on the floor and talking while Willow eats a grilled cheese sandwich. Rupert’s fast asleep on the couch, and Buffy’s tucking him in.

“You know, he’s totally screwing up his sleep cycle,” Buffy informs Jenny, removing Rupert’s glasses and placing them carefully on the coffee table.

“Yeah, well, we had a late night,” says Jenny lightly. “Thanks for not waking him up.”

“Thank _me,_ ” says Willow, giving Faith a gently pointed look. “I was the one that stopped those two from starting a game of touch football with your fancy table lamp.”

Jenny sits down on the floor next to Faith. Tara’s set up a snack platter; she can tell it’s Tara because the platter actually has some healthy food on it. Taking a stick of celery, Jenny inquires, “Where’s Xander at?”

“He’s driving Anya to the auto shop to pick up her car,” Buffy answers, sitting down next to Jenny and reaching for a cookie. She laughs incredulously. “Ms. Calendar, are you eating _celery?_ ”

“Healthy eating,” says Jenny. “Setting a good example.”

“Since when?” Faith takes a stick of celery too. “Don’t you usually go straight for that sugary shit?”

Jenny takes a large bite of celery to avoid answering the question.

“This is a _good sandwich,_ ” Willow’s saying to a giggly Tara. “Full marks. A-plus on sandwich making.”

On the couch, Rupert stirs, shifting slightly and curling into the blanket. Jenny feels all warm and fluttery, watching him wake up; sometimes it knocks her out of the park that she lets herself love him as much as she does. She places the half-eaten celery back on the plate (“oh, that’s gross,” Buffy objects) before turning to rest her elbows on the edge of the couch, looking up at Rupert.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Oh, lord, are the children here?” Rupert mumbles. “I haven’t made them lunch.”

“I-it’s okay, Mr. Giles,” says Tara, smiling shyly. “I took care of it.”

“Yeah, see?” Jenny smiles slightly. “We have some really kickass kids.” She climbs up onto the couch, settling herself in so that she’s lying comfortably in Rupert’s arms. She’s not tired, but Rupert’s very warm, and quiet moments tend to be few and far between in Sunnydale.

The girls are chattering amongst themselves. Faith’s already stolen Jenny’s abandoned celery and is eating it cheerfully, mostly just to get Buffy to make a face. Jenny waits until she’s certain they’re not listening, then says very softly, “I never got the chance to ask you how you felt about a baby.”

“I don’t want my opinions to influence—”

Jenny shakes her head. “They won’t,” she says, and means it. “You know I’ve made my choice. I want to know how it’ll be received.”

“My stance on us having a child is as it has always been,” Rupert begins carefully. “If and when we both feel ready for it—”

“It’s a yes-or-no question,” Jenny tells him.

Rupert is quiet for a moment. Then, barely a whisper, he says, “Yes.”

Jenny kisses him very hard.

“Still here!” says Buffy loudly. “Still here, still very much in the same room as you guys, _please_ stop the makeout session.”

Jenny pulls away, and she’s pretty sure she’s laughing and crying at the same time. “Me too!” she says. It comes out a giggly sob. “I—know it took me a little longer to get here, but—me too, England, let’s do this thing.”

“Are they okay?” Tara asks with some worry.

“No, this is happy crying,” Willow observes. “I’ve gotten pretty good at being able to tell.”

Rupert sits up, holding Jenny in his lap. He’s smiling too, but it isn’t worry-free. “Are you quite sure, love?” he asks, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek. “This isn’t something that I want to pressure you into.”

“No, I—” All of a sudden, Jenny can’t stop thinking about how amazing Rupert’s going to be as a dad. He’s _already_ amazing as a dad. “I’m sure,” she finally manages, a little breathless, and hugs him tightly. “I’m probably going to be scared a lot, but I’m sure.”

Rupert kisses the top of her head. “I’ll be scared too,” he murmurs, sounding dazed and happy. “We’ll take turns.”

The lingering nervousness and nausea still hasn’t gone away, but tangled up in all Jenny’s anxiety is a soft, wonderful conviction that she’s made the right choice. She _wants_ this baby.

“Hey, Ms. Calendar,” says Willow hopefully, “can we get started on today’s magic lessons?”

Reluctantly, Jenny untangles herself from Rupert, giving him a last quick kiss. “Get some sleep,” she tells him, pushing him gently back down into the couch.

“Yes, dear,” Rupert agrees obligingly. He’s looking at her with those soft, bright eyes that always make her feel so loved, and it takes a lot for Jenny to look towards Willow again.

“What was that all about?” Faith asks Jenny, a note of genuine worry in her voice. “You two okay?”

“Yeah,” says Jenny, and finds herself smiling. “Just had to deal with some pretty intense stuff last night, but we’re good. Do you guys want a snack?”

“ _Don’t_ let her bake,” says Rupert, sitting up again. “Last time she baked, it took me _hours_ to clean the kitchen.”

“Roger that,” Willow agrees, saluting Rupert and taking Jenny’s hand. “So snacks, then studying, right?”

“Snacks, then studying,” Jenny agrees. She hesitates, then, “You guys head into the kitchen for a sec, okay? I need to talk to Rupert alone.”

“I’ll make cookies!” says Buffy brightly, grabbing Faith’s hand and pulling her into the kitchen. Tara follows, laughing, and Willow brings up the rear, throwing a smile over her shoulder at Jenny and Giles.

Jenny sits down next to Rupert. “Should we tell them?” she asks. “I mean, obviously not _now_ because not everyone’s here, but—”

“I think we should wait a bit,” Rupert replies carefully. “At least until after the first trimester. Most miscarriages happen before then.” He falters. “Not to say that—”

“It’s okay,” says Jenny, smiling a little wryly. “I think I’ve filled my freak-out quota for the next few days.” She kisses his temple. “Get some _sleep,_ honey, you really need it,” she adds.

“I’m not the pregnant one,” Rupert counters, but he’s still smiling as Jenny tucks the blanket around him.


	3. happy secrets

Keeping secrets is something that Giles is generally rather skilled at. Being a Watcher, while a technically esteemed profession, is more often than not one that relies on lies of omission—or perhaps just lies in general. However, these secrets usually aren’t happy things, and as time goes by, Giles is finding it more and more difficult to not tell _someone_ about the baby.

“What’s up with House Hunters over there?” Faith asks him, jerking a thumb towards Jenny, who’s looking through the real estate listings with a cup of decaf. “You guys planning on moving?” She asks the question casually, but her smile is slightly tense.

“Perhaps,” says Giles carefully. “A bigger house might be somewhat more suitable, given how often the rest of you are over.”

“Don’t worry, Faith,” Jenny adds, giving Faith a reassuring smile. “There’s always going to be a place for you wherever we live.”

Faith considers this, relaxing slightly, then climbs over Giles’s legs to squeeze in next to Jenny on the couch. She rests a hand on Jenny’s shoulder, glancing at the different houses with mild interest. “That one has four bedrooms?” she says disbelievingly. “It’s dirt cheap.”

“One of the advantages of living on a Hellmouth,” replies Jenny, circling the listing. “Lots of properties get freed up.”

Faith makes a face.

Giles looks worriedly over at Jenny, wondering if this reminder of the dangers they face daily might have frightened her a bit in regards to their child. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s him who’s frightened, and another moment to remind himself that this child won’t only have two Vampire Slayers protecting them, they’ll have Jenny Calendar as a mother, so really, there’s no need to worry—

“You are making the _weirdest_ face right now,” Buffy informs him, sounding half-worried and half-amused. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” Giles turns to Buffy. “What—oh, yes, yes, fine.”

Buffy’s eyes go from Giles to Jenny to the real estate listings. Slowly, she says, “How come you guys are looking into buying a new house _now?_ ”

“Call it a whim,” says Giles as casually as he can.

“Giles, no offense, but you’re the least whim-driven person I know,” Buffy informs him with some amusement. “There’s no way you and Ms. Calendar would be buying a new house unless something really big was about to—” She stops very suddenly.

“Holy shit, B,” says Faith, “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

Giles freezes.

“Is the Hellmouth about to open in the middle of this living room?” Faith asks teasingly. “Is _that_ why you’re planning to move out?”

“Good lord, Faith,” says Giles, laughing mostly out of relief. “No. We’re just—”

“Planning ahead,” says Jenny helpfully, circling a listing. “This one’s nice. Three bedrooms, a cute little porch, and ooh, it’s right near UC Sunnydale! Faith, you could swing by and grab lunch between classes.”

“Three bedrooms?” Faith repeats, frowning.

“Yep,” says Jenny, without offering any explanation.

“So, what, two spare rooms instead of one?” There’s a small, thoughtful smile on Buffy’s face. “Isn’t that a waste of space?”

“Hardly,” says Giles, thinking of the small crib that he’s sent for from England. It’s been in the family for generations, protected with charms and runes to keep a small child sleeping safely through the night. “We have plans for the other spare room.”

Buffy tilts her head a little. “And I’m guessing that you guys aren’t ready to tell us those plans yet,” she says, in a way that makes Giles feel very much like Buffy knows more than she’s letting on. He’s grateful to her for not pressing the subject anymore, though.

“Not just yet,” says Jenny carefully, her hand fluttering to rest surreptitiously on her stomach.

Giles sees Buffy’s eyes go to Jenny’s hand, he watches Buffy clap her hands to her mouth in badly suppressed delight, and (though he really shouldn’t) he feels a rush of pride. Clever girl. “I’m going to go make some tea for everyone,” he informs the room.

“I’m coming with you,” says Buffy loudly, jumping up with a big grin on her face. “Faith, you keep Ms. Calendar company, okay? I have to talk to Giles _right now._ ”

So much for not pressing the subject. Giles is startled to find that he doesn’t mind all that much. Faith seems to not have made the connection, though, because her face doesn’t change as she rests her head on Jenny’s shoulder. She looks quiet and peaceful, the way she always does when she’s at home.

“Make Faith hot chocolate,” Jenny instructs Rupert with playfully dramatic imperiousness. “Extra marshmallows.”

“Double extra whipped cream,” Faith adds, taking Jenny’s marker and circling one of the houses. “Six bedrooms, reasonable price. We could _all_ live there, Jen, whaddaya say?”

Buffy follows Giles into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. As soon as she’s sure that no one’s listening, she whispers, “How far along is she?”

Giles considers this, then says, “Not nearly far along enough for me to answer that question.”

“So is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s what it is,” says Giles, who is rather enjoying being the ambiguous one for a change. “Take it as you will.”

“ _Giles,_ ” Buffy whines.

“I really am looking forward to having a bigger house,” Giles comments to no one in particular, rummaging in one of the cupboards for the hot chocolate mix. “Perhaps with a bigger kitchen. I can repaint the bedrooms—our landlord didn’t let us do that here.”

Buffy sighs dramatically. Then she says, “I’m just going to have to pretend I’m surprised when you guys break the news, huh?”

Giles turns to look at Buffy. There’s a shy, proud smile on her face, and he feels a warm flutter in his chest. Not for the first time, he considers the fact that he is, in a sense, already a father. “I suppose so,” he says, and reaches over to squeeze Buffy’s hand.

She squeezes it back, a pattern of long-short-longs that Giles can’t quite decipher. “Dawn taught me Morse Code,” she informs him. “I messed it up, but that was supposed to mean—” She smiles a little. “It would have meant that I think you’re a great dad,” she says. “Or. You know. That you’re going to be one.”

“Thank you,” says Giles softly. Then, clearing his throat, “I didn’t technically _tell_ you anything.”

“Gotcha,” Buffy agrees.

* * *

Buffy and Faith leave with their usual dramatic goodbyes, off to patrol. Jenny fusses with Faith’s jacket at the door and makes her promise to come straight back afterwards for a check-in because of that last time Faith didn’t tell anyone about a near-fatal injury and started bleeding all over Xander’s couch and don’t even _think_ about downplaying something serious like that again, okay, I’m warning you, Faith. Faith has the resigned-yet-shyly-pleased look on her face that Giles has become more and more accustomed to seeing.

“I’m gonna be _fine,_ ” she says for the seventh time, and gives Jenny an awkward hug. “Sheesh. You’re such a _mom_.”

Jenny’s eyes widen over Faith’s shoulder, and then she hugs Faith very tightly back. “Come back safe,” she says, pulling back and smoothing down Faith’s hair.

Faith bats away Jenny’s hands, grinning. “Whatever,” she says, shrugging Jenny off, and slings an arm over Buffy’s shoulder. “C’mon, B, let’s kill something.”

As Faith steers her out of the house, Buffy looks back at Giles and mouths _bye, Dad_ with a big grin on her face. Giles catches this and grins, ducking his head.

“Bye, Dad?” Jenny repeats from next to him, her voice a mixture of amusement and genuine inquiry.

Giles winces. “Oh,” he manages. “Um. Well. She—sort of—”

Jenny laughs. “Easy, Rupert, you’re about to stress yourself to death.” She stands on tiptoe, kissing his nose. “Buffy’s a smart girl,” she says. “I kinda figured it’d click with her, and you’re not all that great at keeping happy secrets.”

“I am _so,_ ” says Giles with indignance.

“You’re really not.” Jenny steps into his arms, resting her head on his chest. “You’re, like, intensely excitable,” she tells him affectionately. “I’m honestly still amazed that you pulled off proposing to me.”

“Yes, _thank_ you,” says Giles. He wants to be irritated, but it’s a bit difficult when Jenny’s this content. He smiles a bit, instead, and adds, “When do you think we should start—making plans?”

“Plans?” Jenny echoes, her voice sleepy and low.

“Hmm. Perhaps not now.” Giles leans down, picking Jenny up in a bridal carry (she laughs in surprise) and teases, “Best not get used to this; I’ll not be picking you _and_ the baby up.”

“You’re picking me and the baby up right now _,_ smart-ass,” Jenny counters drowsily as he carries her into the bedroom.

“The baby’s _small_ right now,” Giles informs Jenny, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I can manage.”


End file.
